


it's a start

by dressedupasmyself



Series: Somewhere Only We Know [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts, M/M, Post-War, Running Away, Slytherin, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, becoming friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16780036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressedupasmyself/pseuds/dressedupasmyself
Summary: Running away from your problems might not be a solution, but it's a start.orHarry doesn't want to go back to Hogwarts.





	it's a start

“Harry, are you sure about this?”

Harry resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. That was probably a habit picked up from one too many nights hanging out at Luna’s. He preferred it there, if only because nobody there had any expectations for him, and he found himself drawn to that.

Here though, at the Burrow where he was staying with Ron and Hermione until school starts, everyone seemed to watch him with concerned expressions and slightly disapproving frowns. He was sick of it.

“Yes, Hermione. I don’t feel ready to go back to Hogwarts. I don’t even know if I need to get my NEWTs, or what I would do with them once I have them.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I know that, that’s not what I meant. Are you sure you want to do this alone? I don’t like the idea of you out there on your own for so long.”

Harry absently started pulling at loose strands of grass next to where he was lounging. He could hear the faint sounds of people scurrying around, and Mrs. Weasley shouting at one of her children. It was a comforting sound.

“I won’t be completely alone. I’m going to visit Charlie, and there will be other people around. I’m not looking to hide in uninhabitable areas this time around.”

Hermione huffed, and Harry looked at her to see her eyes filling with tears.

“I just want you to be okay, Harry. I just want everybody to be okay.” She hid her face in her hands, and harry scooted closer so he could place his arm around her.

“How are they doing?” he asked, voice gentle. Hermione had gone to Australia to retrieve her parents, but had been unable to undo the memory charm completely. They’ve been in St. Mungo’s for over six months, and the healers still weren’t sure if they could reverse the effects.

“I don’t know, the same.” She took a deep breath and faced him. “This seems like running away, Harry. Are you?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe I am. Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to run away, after not doing so for eight years? Besides, there’s so much good in the world. I want to go see some of it before I have to care for a family or get stuck in a job.”

Hermione nodded, but didn’t say anything for a while.

“Just promise that you’ll come back, okay?”

Harry hugged his friend closer. “I promise.”

“Mate, I’m so jealous,” Ron whined, his voice full of longing. He was glaring at his half-packed suitcase with enough fervour that Harry was surprised it hadn’t caught on fire yet.

Harry chuckled from where he was lounging on Ron’s familiar orange bed. Ron had been planning on starting Auror training in September, but had decided to put those plans on hold for a year so he can join Hermione at Hogwarts to finish their NEWTs. He had only made that decision after Harry told them about his impromptu holiday, and Harry couldn’t quite shake the feeling that his friend was unsure of his own abilities.

“What do you mean you’re not jumping from excitement about getting to do _homework_ again?” Harry joked.

Ron groaned even louder and flopped down next to Harry.

“Don’t even remind me.”

They lay in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Do you reckon there will be more ghosts than before?” Ron’s voice was quiet, and he had started to pull at a loose thread on his bedspread.

Harry took his time before answering.

“I asked McGonagall. She said there were a few, but that she’d dealt with most of them. I don’t know what that means, but I assume you won’t see them.”

Ron sat upright, his face pale. “Do you think they’re locked up somewhere? Because I don’t think that’s right. They have feelings and thoughts. If there are ghosts, they gave up their lives for us. The least we can do is allow them to haunt an interesting place like Hogwarts instead of hiding them away like they’re something to be ashamed about.”

Harry nodded. This had played a big part in his decision not to go back to school. Even though he had spent the majority of the year on the school grounds, fixing up the castle, it didn’t feel quite the same as going back to living there full time. Regardless of the dead people possibly roaming the halls, Harry carried enough ghosts from the war with him. He needed to move on, and being stuck in the very place where it happened hadn’t seemed like a constructive environment.

“I don’t know, mate. Maybe ask McGonagall yourself? If they are being cruel to ghosts, it can be a fun project for you and Hermione to take under your wings.”

Ron grimaced, but it seemed as if a bit of the dread had faded away. “Oh Merlin, it’d be like S.P.E.W. all over again, won’t it?”

Harry laughed, and Ron even let out a reluctant chuckle.

“Possibly.”

There was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal a slightly frazzled Hermione. Her eyes widened when it landed on the two boys sprawled across the bed while Ron’s trunk was still spilling bits of quill and clothing all over the floor.

“Honestly, Ron, I asked you to do one thing.”

Ron huffed. “And I’m doing it. Look.” He waved his wand, and the pile of dirty laundry drifted from underneath his bed to fell right into his trunk. “All done.”

Hermione looked positively disgusted, but left them to it.

“It’s going to be weird without you, mate,” Ron muttered.

Harry forced himself to grin, instead of thinking about how much he would miss his best friends. “Let’s face it, you and Hermione need some alone time. You won’t get anywhere with me hovering behind you all the time.”

Ron blushed and smacked Harry across the face with a pillow. He would miss them more than the world.

A blast of cool air hit Harry in the face when he entered the shop. He was used to the mess of brightly coloured junk that tumbled off shelves and covered the surface of the floor, but it didn’t lessen the pang of hurt that flashed across his chest at the sight.

He spotted Ginny on her knees next to a large pile of pink fur and he made his way over to her. She glanced up when he got closer, and he didn’t comment on the slightly red shine in her eyes.

“Still no luck?” he asked quietly, dropping down next to her and picking up a Pygmy Puff. It had its eyes tightly shut, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was still alive.

Ginny huffed and poked at the ball in her hand with the tip of her wand. It moved slightly, and she carefully placed it in a bucket of white liquid, where Harry could make out the faint shape of about two more Puffs.

“Mum says we should give him space to adjust, but I really don’t see how that’s healthy anymore. It’s been over a year, and he doesn’t even join us for dinner.”

George was uncharted territory for most of the Weasleys. Harry had noticed how the entire family seemed to walk on eggshells around the remaining twin. If he had been George, he might also have clustered up in his room, if only to avoid the looks of pity on his family’s faces. He and Ginny had made an effort to visit George, even if they had to huddle close together on a transfigured loveseat that filled the entire empty space available in the small room. Fred’s bed still sat untouched, and there was an unspoken agreement that they were not to mess with George’s fragile peace.

And he was fine for the most part. He showered regularly and ate the food Molly brought him while quietly scribbling in an overfull black notebook with a pencil that Hermione had probably left lying about the house at some point. If one could look past his seclusion and the uncharacteristically serious glint in his eyes, even when making a half arsed attempt at a joke, it might be possible to say that he was healing.

He did not react too well to Ginny’s suggestion of them getting the shop back together, though.

“How can you even think that I’d want to go back there?” he’d demanded of her, and Harry had squeezed her hand softly. “I can’t even face the fucking kitchen, so I don’t really want to know how painful it would be to see his office.”

Ginny had left then, and Harry had let her go. She never was one to share her vulnerability, especially when she thought that someone else needed her to be strong for them. She would be just fine on her own, and Harry could already see the beginning of guilt on George’s face.

“Sorry,” he’d whispered. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

Harry hadn’t said anything, just moved to sit next to his friend. Sometimes just not being alone meant a lot more than empty words that really couldn’t do anything about the fact that life is a bit shit.

“What if Ginny and I cleared out the worst of it?” Harry had suggested later, over a game of Exploding Snap. George had looked dubious, but agreed nonetheless.

“He’ll come around eventually. I promise if he’s still like that by the time I get back, I’ll take stronger action myself.”

Ginny frowned even deeper and chucked another unmoving Pygmy Puff into a trash bag.

“Who’s going to be there for him if you’re abroad and I’m stuck at Hogwarts? I know Mum tries, but I think she just makes it worse by being so careful with him all the time.”

“It’s not your job to put him back together. He’s an adult. He can make his own choices,” Harry muttered softly. The ball in his hands twitched, and he placed it in the bucket with the other living creatures.

“But his choices are shit and he’s my brother,” Ginny whined, and it was so unlike her that Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Ginny tried to glare at him, but the corners of her lips twitched.

“We’re all going to be perfectly fine, Gin. You’ll see.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Maybe.”

Breakfast at Luna’s cottage was always an unpredictable affair. Neville was a consistent polite presence, sometimes greeting Harry from the garden as he entered through the gate, sometimes opening the door with dirt in his hair and a mug of tea in his hands.

Luna was her usual self, humming and floating through the house as she hung vibrantly weird paintings and tied radishes to the rafters. Sometimes she was nowhere to be found, and only emerged a few hours later with soaking wet hair and smelling like a variety of herbs or fruit or something that Harry wasn’t sure how to describe. She’s assured Harry that painting in the bathtub was very good for your inner peace, but Harry still worried about her from time to time.

The unpredictable part, however, lay largely in their third housemate. Harry and Malfoy had settled into a decent truce. If Harry squinted, he might even say that they were becoming friends. They’d gone out to a variety of pubs together. Harry could always count on Malfoy to be up for some alcohol abuse, regardless of the time of day. Sometimes Neville would go with them, and if it was karaoke night, Luna too.

Harry was endlessly fascinated by the blonde. He knew so much about him from years of observing him at Hogwarts, but had never really gotten to know him. It had sort of become a game for Harry to notice things Malfoy did or said, and match them with what Harry already knew about him. He was becoming a real person in Harry’s eyes, and he quite enjoyed spending time with him. It was entirely different from hanging out with Ron.

For one thing, Malfoy could flirt with a dirty tablecloth if he put his mind to it, and Harry loved seeing the flustered look on the faces of the people at the receiving end of Malfoy’s gaze. He seemed to be quite fluent in his sexual preferences, and Harry had seen him snog a variety of witches, wizards and even the occasional muggle bartender. When Harry had asked him about it, he’d turned his gaze on Harry.

“Why, Potter, are you jealous?” he’d asked, but Harry could hear the humour in his voice, and had insisted on an answer. Malfoy had sighed and downed the last of his drink. “We’re alive, alright? I hadn’t bargained on it for a while, and it’s surprisingly nice. My father had been quite insistent on what kind of person I should marry and produce an heir with, and I am rather enjoying not being limited by that kind of boundaries anymore. I’ll probably settle down one day, but for now I won’t deny myself a good snog with an attractive person.”

It seemed like sound logic to Harry, but he couldn’t bring himself to pursue it himself. He was far less smooth than the Slytherin, and he didn’t find casual sex all that appealing.

Sometimes, Harry took one look at Malfoy laying on the sofa or sitting at the kitchen table and knew to tread lightly. Even if Harry avoided the blonde as best he could and kept as quiet as possible, Malfoy’s bad moods almost always ended in a row or immature argument of some kind.

Harry still found himself occasionally amazed at how seamlessly Malfoy seemed to fit in with his two friends. Considering Neville’s ineptitude when it came to all things potions and Luna’s tendency to over salt and over spice anything she could get her hands on, Malfoy did most of the cooking. It was not uncommon for Harry to enter the house after keeping Neville company outside and find Malfoy behind the stove, his sleeves rolled up and looking extremely at ease with his life. Those were the best days, in Harry’s opinion, especially if he could manage to work something into the conversation that Malfoy didn’t know a lot about. When he was soft and pliable like that, he let his incessantly curious nature shine through the indifferent mask he wore most days. He could ask hours of questions on how football compared to quidditch and why only some muggles were trained in calligraphy when it was such an important part of writing the perfect letter, and what the fuck is a _ballpoint pen_?

Today, it seemed to be a mixed day. When Harry entered the kitchen, he saw a hassled Malfoy holding a spatula and practically begging the pancakes to cook faster. When he spotted Harry, he seemed to sag in relief.

“Potter, thank fuck. Come finish cooking these bloody things, I need to finish packing if I plan to catch the train today with any of my dignity in tact.” He dashed out of the room without another word, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen. He’d hardly even hung up his coat and flipped the first pancake when Luna came in, humming cheerfully and dressed in a pretty blue dress.

“Morning, Luna. Are you excited to go back to school?” he asked. He was feeling a bit sentimental after saying so many goodbyes. It was finally sinking in that while everyone was at Hogwarts, he wouldn’t be. As certain as he was of his decision, he still felt a bit tender.

“Oh, I’m not going back,” she said in a singsong voice as she started to make tea.

“Cranberry Vanilla,” Harry said automatically. “Why not?”

Luna shrugged. “Daddy’s sick. I’ll probably take over editing the Quibbler next year.”

Harry glanced carefully at Luna, trying to notice any signs of sadness, but she seemed as content as ever.

“Are you okay? It must be hard for you.”

Luna looked at him with piercing eyes, and Harry was abruptly reminded of how much they’ve all had to grow up after the war.

“He’s old, Harry. He suffered so much when I was taken, and he’s really happy to have outlived Voldemort. I’m going to spend as much time as I can with him and make his last few months the best he’s ever had. He’ll die happy, and that means he’ll be happy forever, no matter where he ends up. Life wouldn’t mean as much as it does if it didn’t end sometimes.”

Harry had no idea what to say, so he settled on hugging his friend instead.

Harry had to carry three of Neville’s plants that were too volatile to be levitated. That would have been fine, if they weren’t so insistent on biting his fingers off.

“Nev, can we maybe put these in the train before saying goodbye?” he asked in a strained voice as the undoubtedly venomous teeth snapped mere millimetres from his thumb.

Neville looked as if he’d forgotten completely about Harry’s dilemma, and Harry tried his best to ignore the muffled laughter from behind him as he handed the devil flora to his friend, who dashed off to put them somewhere.

“Scared of a tree, Potter?” came the joking retort.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Malfoy, who seemed much more put together now that all his precious silk pillowcases were neatly packed in his unnaturally heavy trunk.

“Whatever, Malfoy. Are you ready to leave me in peace so I don’t have to see your ugly face every time I turn around?”

Malfoy snorted. “My face is exquisitely beautiful and you know that. Also, I can hardly be blamed if you are always at my house. Fuck off to somewhere else; you put me off my breakfast.”

Harry grinned. He was even going to miss the git.

“But seriously, are you ready?”

They both knew what he was referring to. Although Harry had seen no real use in holding a grudge, the majority of the rest of the wizarding world still viewed Malfoy as a criminal. Returning to school would not be at all easy for him. Even Ron and Hermione avoided the subject of Harry’s unlikely friendship whenever possible.

Malfoy sucked in a deep breath, and Harry saw his guard drop for a split second, before he went back to being as impassive as ever.

“I am done with running, Potter. I want to be a Potions Master, and this is how I will get it. It’s quite simple.”

“Right. Only face your fears if they get in the way of your ambitions.”

“You learn surprisingly quickly for someone with limited thinking ability.”

Harry sent a mild stinging hex at Malfoy, who disguised his yelp in a snigger, and turned to face the red train.

“It is ironic, though, that you’re running away to Europe while I’m dealing with things head on. It seems unnatural.”

Harry hummed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We’re balancing out.”

Malfoy looked at him curiously, but agreed.

“Yeah.”

Harry lost track of who was where after that as he was faced with what seemed like endless hugs and limbs flying everywhere. He tried to ignore all the tears and slightly reddened eyes for the most part, except for Hermione’s, whom he hugged a bit longer than the rest. His arm still stung hours later from the force of Ginny’s goodbye punch, and there was a suspicious stain on his sleeve that might have transferred from Neville’s robes.

They finally all managed to get on the train eventually, though, and he convinced himself they were all going to be fine. This felt like a new beginning, and he was excited for every part of it.


End file.
